


This Was A Home Once

by mxtroid



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, PTSD, Post Trespasser DLc, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition, kind of a domestic au?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-04
Updated: 2018-04-04
Packaged: 2019-04-18 13:53:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14214564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mxtroid/pseuds/mxtroid
Summary: Three years after the events of Trespasser, and the Cadash-Rainier clan has adjusted to a normal, civilian life in the Hinterlands, away from magic, and rifts, and politics. However, when Blaesa receives a foreboding letter, she must face a past life that she has not claimed for over a decade. A journey to Kirkwall to face the Carta, and the remnants of Blaesa's lost childhood will test the tides of love and self worth, for everyone involved in the former Inquisitor's life.





	This Was A Home Once

9:50 Dragon, 13 Bloomingtide

The day began as soon as the sun’s rays reached through the open window, the gradual intensity of heat and light causing Blaesa’s eye to flutter open. Her eye stung with drowsiness and sleep was itching at her tear duct, and her hair was strewn across the pillow. Without looking, she spread her right arm across the bed, feeling for a familiar lump in the duvet. _Gone for the morning_ , she confirmed, as she slowly threw the covers aside and sat up, rubbing at her eye. The cold of the new day instantly attacked her body, only protected by a slip, and so, goose bumps began to form on her arms and legs. She clumsily tied her hair into a ponytail, a large feat for a tired, one armed woman indeed. She stifled a yawn and stretched her arm, then her legs, and then arched her back, sighing with each pop in her spine.

Her satisfaction was soon interrupted by the mewls of her child, and she grinned. She could only imagine what mischief little Reuben had managed to make within the first few minutes of the day – had he thrown his toys out of his crib? Chewed on the bed knobs again? Only time would tell, as she glided to his room. On opening the door, a soft knitted blanket had launched straight into her face, followed by giggles.

“And good morning to you, my handsome boy!” Blaesa chuckled, removing the projectile as she inspected the room. Yes, Reuben had indeed managed to throw every soft thing he could find across the room, and had even managed to balance a knitted nug toy on top of his rocking horse. He was standing up on his mattress, hands clinging tightly to the bars, lest he tip over clumsily. Blaesa picked up all the items strewn across the floor, sans the horse riding nug, – she would show Thom later when he returned – and put them back in the crib away from her son’s grabbing hands. She stroked her son's mop of dark curly hair - just like his father's - and Reuben’s arms shot up, fingers curling and stretching; the signs of wanting to be carried. “You cheeky devil you, you know I can’t carry you properly!” Blaesa jokingly huffed, and slowly hooked her arm around the toddler, careful to balance him with her left forearm. Reuben threw his arms up around his mother’s neck and cooed softly as they both went to the kitchen.

Mornings were usually the same; Thom leaving early for deliveries, while Blaesa and Reuben stayed home, each tending to their own jobs. Blaesa not only had several commissions waiting to be completed, but there was still long-term Inquisition business to sort, despite the organization disbanding three years ago, keeping Blaesa unwillingly occupied in the early hours. Meanwhile, Reuben did as all three-year olds did – eat, sleep and play, the latter under his mother’s eagle eye in between jobs. Blaesa had decided that today was simply too warm to do much of anything, so she loafed about the house in her – borrowed – tunic and leggings. Likewise, little Reuben was also dressed down, and was significantly more comfortable as he sprawled on the rugs of the sitting room.

Around lunchtime, Thom returned, completing the Rainier clan. As usual, his arms were full of his usual supplies – food, timber and tools. His head hit the door frame as it always did, and he rubbed his head to ease the pain, as well as wipe the sweat from his brow. Not only was the weather warming up outside, it was slightly warm in the cottage, despite all the windows being opened. He could smell bread baking in the oven, and a beef stew on the stove, and as he followed his nose, he saw Blaesa working tirelessly to clean the work surfaces. The entire room was humid from steaming vegetables and steam emanating from the oven, explaining the heat. She hadn’t noticed his arrival, and so, he took it upon himself to notify her by sweeping her off her feet.

He gently put his tools down on the floor and padded into the kitchen, the clomps of his boots cancelled out by Blaesa’s humming combined with the bubbling of pots and pans. With great gusto, he wrapped his arms around Blaesa’s waist and legs and lifted her up off the floor. Blaesa had let out a loud yelp, and as soon as she saw Thom’s grinning face, her annoyed frown had turned into a stifled grin.

“Thom, you oaf, you scared the life out of me!” Blaesa exclaimed as she mock punched Thom’s shoulder.

“What a warm welcome indeed!” Thom replied cheekily as he planted a kiss on her cheek, his lips faintly pressing against Blaesa’s scar behind her masses of curls.

“Yes, it might be warm because it’s so hot in this kitchen,” Blaesa grinned, as Thom set her down. Reuben had heard the ruckus in the kitchen and had decided to investigate, blanket in tow. He padded excitedly over to his father, who picked him up and twirled him in the air, laughter and baby noises filling the air. Blaesa would have been laughing had it not been for the proximity of Reuben’s feet to the cupboard. “Careful, Thom, you’ll knack his feet on the side!” Blaesa cried, cradling the child’s feet just in time. Thom ceased the rough play and turned to see Blaesa staring up at him with an eyebrow raised, a smile threatening to form on her face. He chuckled softly and shifted Reuben to his left hip, and put his right arm around his wife.

“Sorry love, I didn’t mean any harm,” he said, opening his hand to caress Blaesa’s cheek.

“I know, dear,” Blaesa replied, her hand meeting his on her cheek. They stood in silence for a moment, leaning on each other, while Reuben gurgled and pulled on his father’s beard, surrounded by the homely smells of their dinner.

Their dinner.

“Oh no! I knew I could smell something burning!” Blaesa panicked as she let go of Thom’s hand, and rushed to prepare the food. Thom looked at her for a moment, noting the beads of sweat and the deep flush forming on her face. His eyes wandered to her arm, still scarred and, well, not there. She still managed to make an entire feast, chores and take care of a husband and son with a missing eye and now a missing arm. Thom’s eyes grew hot as he watched Blaesa effortlessly dart around the kitchen, forgetting that Reuben was ripping the beard hair out of his follicles. He set the boy down and gently took the utensils from his wife’s hands.

“Give yourself a few minutes love, I’ll finish dishing up,”

“You sure?” Blaesa asked. Thom nodded, and received a peck on the cheek. “Thank you,” she smiled sweetly and took Reuben’s hand, leading him to the sitting room. 

* * *

 

It had grown dark and hazy outside, the sky turning purple and gold and blue and pink in an amalgamation of colour as the sun began to set. Reuben had been put to bed, and Thom and Blaesa sat together in the sitting room, the former whittling a small trinket, and Blaesa reading. Thom eyed the book that Blaesa was reading and sighed.

“You’re re-reading that chapter again?”

“I’m supposed to be proof-reading this for Varric, you know! I don’t enjoy a lick of it, I’m just looking for grammatical errors, that’s all,” Blaesa hurriedly said, her cheeks going a dusty pink. Thom raised an eye, and Blaesa sighed, giving in. “Okay, I _am_ enjoying it, but I still need to proof-read. Varric’s supposed to be publishing in a couple months and wants my input,” she explained, putting the book down on the arm of the chair, careful to save her page.

“I thought you didn’t like Varric’s ‘sappy romance drivel’,” Thom quoted with a snarky grin, referring to one of Blaesa’s harshest reviews of their friend’s work.

“It’s growing on me,” she smiled sweetly, squirming at the memory of that critique, “Besides, he’s getting a lot better at the whole romance schtick. I think he’s been observing us,”

“Trust me when I say that the thought of Varric ‘observing’ us to write a better romance novel is not something I want to be thinking about,” Thom shuddered. Blaesa giggled, her hand covering her mouth.

“Maybe I phrased that wrongly, because now I’m starting to get creeped out, and he’s all the way in Kirkwall! Maybe I ought to close the windows,” Blaesa started to get out of the armchair, shivering for effect. Thom jumped at the mention of ‘Kirkwall’ and remembered something from earlier in the day.

“Blaesa, wait, I forgot to give you something earlier!” He scrambled to find the letter in his pocket, and gave it to Blaesa, her eye sparkling with expectancy. She looked at the envelope, slightly crumpled and smudged from living in Thom’s pocket for the past few hours.

“Thank you, dear,” she grumbled at the state of the letter, and attempted to remove the wax seal, with great difficulty, given her missing arm. Thom took it from her and eased off the seal, opening the letter. Blaesa mumbled a ‘thanks’ as she received the letter again, and started to read. It was from Kirkwall. From Varric? No, his handwriting was different. This was a lot less legible. That worried her immensely.

Thom watched her expressions form and change as she read, from eagerness, to confusion, and then fear. Her arm started to shake violently and she grew pale.

“Blaesa, love, what’s wrong?” he asked frantically as he stood to comfort her.

“No, no, no,” she mumbled, her voice shaking. Thom took the letter from her loosening grip as he gently sat her back down on the arm chair, and started to read;

_To Blaesa,_

_We need you back, Father has died and the Cadash clan is in ruins. Forget the past and just come. You know where to find us._

_Edmund_

Thom was stunned. Blaesa hadn’t been in contact with her family in over ten years, and now this short letter? Asking her to return home after everything she went through? He looked to see Blaesa hunched over with her head buried in her hands, shaking violently. He swiftly sat with her and cradled her as she gasped and convulsed, his hand softly stroking her shoulder.

Usually, Thom could handle Blaesa’s distress. He could comfort her during the whole Corypheus business, all the trouble with Solas at the Winter Palace, and even through his trial. But not this. He knew the effect of a traumatic past on a person. Especially someone as young as Blaesa at that time.

He only knew pockets of what happened, from what Blaesa was willing to tell him, and the comments that Cole had made during their travels together. _A dagger at her face, punishing, scraping, this is what you deserve_. That was the day she lost her eye. That was also the day she left her family, left her past behind. Like himself. But she had never deserved it like he thought he did.

Blaesa had lessened her shaking. She was probably starting to wrap her head around the situation.

“Blaesa?” She looked up slowly to face Thom. Her thoughts were scattered, but she forced herself to focus on the things outside of her head. Her husband’s arm around her. Her presence on the couch. The embers on the fire. She gulped.

“I have to go, Thom,” she whispered. “I have to,”

“Are you sure?” Thom asked worriedly, his hands on her shoulders.

“Yes,” she replied shakily, but affirmatively.

“I’ll come with you. You need someone there with you,”

“If it were any other situation, I think I’d disagree. But yes, I will need you there with me,” Blaesa stammered. The intrusive thoughts attempted to gnarl their way back into her head, but she focused again. She hugged Thom tightly, grasping at his back for dear life. Thom reciprocated, but warier, as if he would break her in two. They sat in silence, holding each other, almost rocking each other.

“I love you, Thom,” Blaesa whispered quietly. Thom’s heart thumped at the sound of his name, even after all these years.

“I love you too,” Thom reaffirmed his hug, wrapping tighter around her small torso. Again, they were silent, until the sounds of Reuben’s cries came in through the door. “I’ll go,”

“No, let me,” Blaesa stood up hastily, giving Thom a warm smile before seeing to their son. Thom’s gaze on his wife lingered even after she had left the room. As Blaesa was cooing and comforting Reuben from the nursery, Thom stood up and picked up the letter. He tossed it carelessly into the fire and spat into the air,

“Bastards.”

**Author's Note:**

> the title is from a bad suns song fghdgfsahfksajfd
> 
> i hope ya'll like my semi-self indulgent story! i wanted to write something grittier and to do with my holy grail of otps. i am passionate about thom rainier's happiness, and sad that i can't find any decent fanfics of him D:
> 
> i'm not much of a writer myself, i just suck at drawing all these scenarios out, so any constructive criticism would be much appreciated, thanks!! ^o^


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